


Smokelight

by SelenaEstella



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Punk, Dirty Talk, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Piercings, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 17:46:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18481234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenaEstella/pseuds/SelenaEstella
Summary: As the city wakes again for another long night, Ichigo meets up with his boyfriend.A punk!Grimmichi AU, inspired by fanart.





	Smokelight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this art](http://wulvercazz.tumblr.com/post/184191118554/starry-thread-proposed-punkgrimmichi-was-going) by wulvercazz!
> 
>  
> 
> I deviated slightly and added my own things. For some reason the idea of Grimmjow as some sort of metal worker really appeals to me.

Steam hissed from a vent, blooming against the darkening sky. Cars hummed on distant streets interspersed with the roar of motorbikes. Voices mixed in the hot, dry air, far off and indistinct. The stench of cigarette ash and old gasoline rose thick from the tarmac.

Felt like home.

Ichigo kicked a bottle as he walked, hands shoved in the pockets of his ripped jeans, scowling at the sidewalk. Another bad fight, another close call, another night out to avoid the looks from his family. Same old, same old. He'd change when the world changed, and those bastards had deserved it.

The high shriek of drill hit the air and Ichigo couldn’t help but smile, lips tugging at his piercings. He played with one of the studs on the inside of his mouth for a moment, before taking a breath and breaking into a run.

The chain link fence shuddered as he clawed his way up, boots digging into the loose metal that was hard and sharp beneath his hands. Swinging his legs up and over, Ichigo dropped down on the other side just as a long, slow wolf whistle rose from the shadows. He turned.

A figure was crouched on a dumpster at the side of the alley. They cackled, jumping down when Ichigo approached.

“Ichi-bro!”

“Di-Roy,” Ichigo said, with the usual exasperation. “You on lookout again?”

Di-Roy nodded, filled with pride. “What can I say, the boss wants my skills.”

 _Wants you out of his way, more like,_  Ichigo thought but didn't say. “He's in there, right?”

“Oh yeah,” said Di-Roy, reaching under his bandages to scratch at the empty hole where his eye had been. Ew. Guy always seemed to have some sort of head wound going on. “But it’ll cost ya…”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. Yeah, no, he wasn't falling for that one twice  “Fuck off,” he said, side-stepping Di-Roy and batting him away. Not hard. But enough.

“Sucker,” Di-Roy mumbled. Then he changed his tune, gleeful voice rising loud against the drill. _“Oi! Boss! Ya boy toy’s here!”_

The noise cut off abruptly. _“He’s not my boy toy!”_ a voice yelled from inside, followed by a loud crashing sound. Di-Roy laughed.

Ichigo reached the half-raised garage door just as Grimmjow appeared, ducking underneath it with a rag in one hand and a half-finished cigarette in the other. Smears of black grease sat alongside the tattoos on his arms, and a couple of fingerprints had made their way onto his scar, exposed by the low-slung tank top Ichigo couldn't wait to rip off.

“Kurosaki!” He took Ichigo’s hand and yanked him into their usual, brutal hug, laughing into Ichigo’s mane of hair. Di-Roy made lewd kissy sounds behind them. Grimmjow slapped him with the rag.

“How are ya?” he asked, pulling back just enough to flick one of Ichigo’s earrings. “These are new.”

“You like ‘em?” Ichigo reached up as well, and Grimmjow didn’t move his hand. “Got them last week,” he said, gaze softening as Grimmjow linked their fingers together. “Would’ve done them sooner, but the old man won’t let me do anything cool. Had to save up and pay a guy.”

Grimmjow shook his head. “How dare you not risk sepsis,” he said dryly, pulling away and stubbing his cigarette on the sole of his boot. “C’mon, I’ve got something for you.”

He ducked back under the metal door, Ichigo close behind.

At first glance, the workshop was pure chaos. Tools were scattered everywhere, anywhere, on work benches, chairs, empty crates, the microwave. Machines were parked wherever they’d fit, all whirring, fizzing, shaking, steaming. Half-finished projects lay amongst bits of scrap metal, some seemingly indistinguishable from each other, all bent at odd angles or completely discoloured.

But Grimmjow thrived in the chaos. He knew where everything was, and he never messed up. No lost orders, and no accidents. Which was good considering the workshop wasn’t exactly legal. It’d been his livelihood ever since he’d left home - or run away more like, the disgraced foster-son of one of the city’s most powerful and poisonous businessmen. He hadn’t made a great first impression, turning up at the Kurosaki Clinic with a bullet in his arm. In fact he was pretty sure Ichigo had hated him at first, and the feeling wasn’t unrequited.

Grimmjow remembered their first riot like most people remembered their first date. They hadn’t even gone together, just ended hiding behind the same low wall, bloodied and bruised, filled with righteous anger at the world. They’d talked. Become friends. Become more.

Grimmjow moved through the workshop with practised ease, though he had to wait a moment at the door for Ichigo to catch up. They went through into the main part of the ramshackle building, where Grimmjow and his gang usually lived. It was pure bachelor pad, empty bottles huddling in corners, weird stains on the patchy old carpet, but like the workshop, there was a sort of order to the mess. Grimmjow never let it get too bad, nothing was dusty, and there were no bugs either. He kept his gang in order.

“I’m going out,” he shouted through a doorway, then continued on along the hall. Ichigo glimpsed some of the gang, sitting around a TV set, but didn’t stop. He followed Grimmjow up the stairs, pulse quickening as they approached a familiar door, worn out 6 still etched in blue.

As soon as they were inside, Grimmjow’s hands were on him. Ichigo tipped his head back with a breathy sigh, then pulled Grimmjow forward by the ring on his choker.

 _“Fuck,”_ Grimmjow hissed, Ichigo’s teeth pulling at his earlobe. “Kurosaki…”

Ichigo bit down before pulling back. “Really?” he said. “We’ve been together this long, and you’re still using my last name?”

“Don’t try ta tell me it doesn’t turn you on,” Grimmjow purred, tugging Ichigo’s hair to get this throat exposed again, diving in with hot breath and wicked teeth. _“Ku-ro-sa-ki~"_

A shiver of pleasure ran up Ichigo’s spine, blood shooting straight to his dick. “Ok… it’s hot when you say it like that,” he admitted breathlessly. “But it’s hot when you say anything like that!”

Grimmjow laughed, low and rough in his throat, tongue piercing running down the side of Ichigo’s neck, not _enough._ “You wanna fuck me, Kurosaki?” he growled. “You want my _cock?”_

“For fuck’s sake, get your clothes off.”

Grimmjow was happy to oblige.

They fucked rough, rutting against each other, too desperate for slow, gentle sex. They were saving that for later, when they’d be tired and calm, able to make it sweet.

For now they stood, kissing frantically as their hands worked, pressed together as they gasped and moaned. Grimmjow bit down on Ichigo’s shoulder and knew he was about to come, tried to hold out as long as he could while Ichigo cried out with pleasure, hot come spilling over their joined hands.

Grimmjow came a second later, laughing breathlessly as he dropped his head onto Ichigo’s shoulder. “I won.”

“You gotta say that… every time?” Ichigo panted, but he was grinning.

They parted slowly, and stumbled into the bathroom to clean up a little before heading out. It was a familiar routine, the start of a long night filled with booze, music, dancing, and sex.

It was quiet still, but around them the city was waking up again. Together they went down to the front of the building and stepped out beneath the starless sky. Sprawled side-by-side on hot concrete, bathed in cheap strip lights from the place across the road, Ichigo felt at peace.

Grimmjow fished a couple of bent cigarettes out of his pocket and gave one to Ichigo, leaned in close so he could light them together, their equivalent of a quick peck on the lips.

“Another march next week,” Grimmjow said, leaning back against the tiled wall, arm tucked behind his head. “You gonna be there?”

“Obviously.” Ichigo took a drag, let it out with sigh. “Think they’ll listen this time?”

“Doubt it,” Grimmjow muttered bitterly. “But Viva la Revolution an’ all that.”

Ichigo leaned a little closer, bumping his shoulder against Grimmjow's  “I’ll stick by you,” he said quietly.

Grimmjow looked at him. Cracked a small smile. “I know.”

“Hey guys!”

Ichigo looked up sharply, but Grimmjow just rolled his eyes. “Hey Odelschwank,” he said. “More like Odelsch-wanker,” he added under his breath, not for the first time. Ichigo tried not to snort.

Green hair bouncing, Nel approached them from over the road. If there was a cross between punk and hippie, she was it - leather jacket pulled over a tie-dye sundress, flowers painted on combat boots, little deer skull earrings dangling by her cheeks, messenger bag covered in badges and pins. A camera hung from her neck, and she raised it as she got nearer.

“Can I?” she asked. “You look so cute!”

“We’re not cute,” Ichigo said out of habit.

Grimmjow caught his eye and shrugged. They’d end up on her wall, most likely. Maybe appear in into a college newspaper. At the most, they’d be in a local magazine, an example of two punks hanging out on a night like any other. And why not? Why not have something to remember this moment?

The protest was only next week, after all.

They nodded.


End file.
